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Shinsou had replayed the scene in his mind countless times, polishing it like a secret keepsake.
In the fantasy, he would stride into the overcrowded hero holiday party — Christmas Eve, of all nights, when everyone pretended they weren’t exhausted from their patrol schedules — when all of them also looked unfairly good. Shinsou would have on a tailored suit (that he didn’t even own), hair artfully tousled with just the right amount of spike, eyes sharp and inviting instead of unsettling. Six years as a Pro Hero had taught him how to weaponize charm when the situation called for it; he could flip the switch for cameras, villains, or gala small talk with equal ease. Villains, honestly, were usually less complicated.
Shinsou liked to envision that as he spoke, he would be mid-conversation, champagne in hand, surrounded by friends who were laughing at something he had said, when he’d spot Aizawa cutting through the crowd. Not because the room parted dramatically like some movie cliché, but because Aizawa always moved like he was on a mission, and tonight that mission would be finding him.
They would somehow end up face-to-face, close enough that the noise of the party dulled to a hum, both of them holding gifts in their hands.
Aizawa — beautiful and tall, his pale skin still smooth, his eyes still dangerously warm and dark in a way that made Shinsou’s breath catch, his hair in silken waves that spilled with effortless imperfection over his broad shoulders — would smile at Shinsou — that small, private half-smile that always felt like it belonged only to Shinsou — and Aizawa would slide closer to Shinsou so that it seemed like they were the only two people in the room.
Shinsou would do his best to be paradoxically both coy and bold, looking up at Aizawa through his eyelashes, giving him a soft smile of his own, while also sliding closer to Aizawa so they could be wrapped in their own world together, the rest of the party in the background fading into a non-important murmuring buzz around them.
Shinsou would hand Aizawa his gift and Aizawa’s brow would raise, as if wondering what perfect gift his former favorite student would have purchased for him. And the questioning look would melt into awe and appreciation when he opened the box to find a beautiful new capture weapon, woven with the best material, smooth and powerful, the fibers responding to Aizawa’s touch as if they could understand his very thoughts or a reservation to some quiet onsen retreat that neither of them would ever actually book. Aizawa’s eyebrows would lift in that familiar dry surprise, then soften into something fond and grateful as he turned the gift over in his hands.
“It’s perfect,” he would breathe, touched at the thoughtfulness and at the generosity inherent in the gift.
Shinsou would smirk, as if offended that Aizawa would think he would get him anything that wasn’t perfect.
And Aizawa would then produce Shinsou’s gift with a flourish: something thoughtful, understated, impossibly right. In some versions it was high-end tech for Shinsou’s quirk; in others, something quieter, like a rare book on underground hero tactics or a stupidly soft scarf in the exact shade of purple Shinsou pretended to hate.
In Shinsou’s fantasies, he always pictured them getting the perfect gift for each other, even though in real life, he didn’t even know what a perfect gift would even look like.
Envisioning an expensive bit of hero gear or a fanciful getaway was an easy thing to picture, mostly because it’s what society seemed to suggest was something Shinsou was supposed to want. So he envisioned it and let the detail pepper his fantasies, even though he knew neither he nor Aizawa were the sort of people to make expensive gestures like that. Aizawa would probably roll his eyes at Shinsou and immediately demand that he return it if he ever even tried to pull a stunt like that. Not that he ever would.
The details changed depending on the day, but the feeling stayed the same: easy, warm, theirs.
But the fantasy was a fantasy, right down to the way Shinsou’s hair would look elegantly mussed, the colors in his hair dark with a violet sheen instead of being a fluffy mess of violently cartoonish purple the way it was in real life. The party would be loud and chaotic, full of people trying too hard or not trying at all. Aizawa would spend most of the night leaning against a wall, nursing one drink and looking like he was calculating the fastest escape route.
And the gifts — if they even exchanged any — would be small, practical, maybe a little ridiculous. Something that made the other person huff a laugh and mutter “idiot” in the fondest tone possible.
Shinsou was perfectly content knowing that the strange fantasy would never happen. Because he didn’t long for perfection. He allowed himself to envision what it might be like, but he wasn’t delusional, either. If anything, he’d probably hate the holiday party if things ended up going the way he envisioned. Because it would feel wrong.
Because it wasn’t real.
Because it wasn’t them.
Reality was different: messier and yet all the more perfect in that it was real.
The actual party buzzed around them, filled with hundreds of people Shinsou didn’t know and containing approximately fifty he did, but only one he was eager to see.
Shinsou had pulled on his one nice outfit for the occasion and he had done his best to purchase little gifts for his friends, even though he knew it was rather pointless considering their salaries meant that they likely already owned everything they could ever need.
He left his presents for his friends on the table labeled with the necessary tags and ignored the ones that had his name on them. He wasn’t really one for presents, anyway, and he was sure one of his friends would scoop them up at the end of the night and deliver them to him later, like his own personal Pro Hero Santa.
But he did hold onto one gift. There was one that he always liked to give in person, mostly so that he could see their reaction.
When Shinsou finally spotted Aizawa, the older man was at the bar, looking sullen and irritated, which wasn’t particularly surprising given how many people were at the party coupled with the fact that Mic was hanging off him obnoxiously while a nearby Midnight laughed in demonic delight at whatever antics Mic was up to.
The real Aizawa wasn’t dressed as sharply as he was in Shinsou’s fantasy, but he did have a nice jacket on, at least. He was still tall, his eyes still sharp, but his shoulders were slumped with weariness, his face more gaunt, his hair flecked with gray and more messy than smooth. He looked older than he was and utterly exhausted, but he was still every bit the man and hero that Shinsou had admired and respected.
Reality was never as perfect as his fantasy and yet, he still loved Aizawa just as much, potentially even more.
The moment Aizawa spotted him across the crowded room, his whole posture eased: the weariness in his shoulders dropped, the irritated scowl smoothed away, and the faint tension around his eyes softening into something warmer. It hit Shinsou square in the chest, that quiet spark of pleasure on Aizawa’s face. He liked that he caused that reaction in Aizawa. And a part of him was equally smug that he was the only one who could cause that reaction: not Mic with his endless energy, not Midnight with her teasing. Just him.
Shinsou excused himself from the cluster of friends still arguing over the latest hero rankings — loud, enthusiastic, exhausting — and drifted toward the bar. Quiet conversation sounded a lot better right now, and Aizawa had always been good at that: low voices, minimal words, maximum understanding.
He hadn’t even reached the stool before Aizawa nudged a small, slightly lopsided package across the counter toward him. At the exact same time, Shinsou fished his own gift out of his jacket pocket. No discussion, no planning, just instinct. Everyone else was dumping presents on the big table by the door for later pickup, but neither of them had even considered it.
Ignoring the crowing comments from Mic, they exchanged their gifts almost bashfully, with their packages both small and hurriedly wrapped: the paper was creased, the tape uneven. Neither of them cared. It was the reality of their lives: they were busy, they were sleep-deprived, and they both lacked the energy to put in the effort to something as illogical as pristine present wrapping. Aizawa had once grumbled that fancy wrapping was pointless — the gift was the point, not the packaging — and while Shinsou somewhat disagreed with the sentiment, he also only owned one roll of silver wrapping paper that he used for weddings, birthdays, Christmas, and everything else in between, so he really couldn’t argue that it was important when he clearly put so little effort in himself.
They each had two presents for each other, which was somewhat unexpected but they both laughed when they saw how well they mirrored each other, as if it was a cute coincidence while Midnight rolled her eyes at them, already exasperated by the way they continued to carefully circle around each other in the same slow dance that had been happening perpetually for the last few years, with neither ever making progress.
Aizawa went first, peeling back the silver paper with careful fingers. The first box revealed a stack of lychee-flavored energy jelly pouches.
Mic groaned dramatically, leaning over Aizawa’s shoulder. “You’re enabling him.”
“It’s not my worst,” Aizawa said defensively while Shinsou laughed at how pleased Aizawa was and how exasperated Mic was at the gift. A success all around.
“They’re terrible for you,” Mic sighed.
Shinsou just shrugged, trying not to look too pleased with himself. He knew it was a bit stupid to give Aizawa something as mundane as jelly packets, but Aizawa preferred simplicity and practicality. Plus, it neatly sidestepped Mic’s ongoing crusade to cut off Aizawa’s jelly supply. “There’s another thing in there,” he said as Mic and Aizawa were about to launch into more bickering.
Aizawa raised a brow and looked at the box of jelly again before glancing up at Shinsou almost curiously. He dug deeper and came up with a bottle of Vitamin D supplements.
Shinsou felt heat creep up his neck. “Look, I just want you healthy,” he said, aiming for sounding casual and mostly failing. Aizawa was famously terrible at self-care; so someone had to step in. And handing the bottle over in public meant Mic now had ammunition to nag him about actually taking them.
“Well,” Aizawa grinned as held up the small pill bottle for Mic to inspect, “at least you can’t complain about this one.”
Mic plucked the bottle from Aizawa’s fingers. “Vitamin D pills?” he read off the label, deflating slightly when there was nothing to mock.
“I don’t get a lot of sunlight,” Aizawa pointed out fairly.
Mic rolled his eyes and tossed the pills back to Aizawa, disappointed it wasn’t something more scandalous. “Whatever, you vampire.”
Midnight made a barely-hushed joke involving the vitamin D pills with an emphasis on the D and Aizawa threw the discarded wrapping at her. She dodged, cackling.
When Mic and Midnight had quieted with their chortling, Aizawa tore into the second present, looking vaguely curious and then grinning widely when he saw what it was: a small package of tuna-flavored cat treats.
“You know he’s not actually a cat, right?” Mic said flatly to Shinsou while Midnight shook her head in exasperation.
“It’s a practical present,” Shinsou defended. “He’ll definitely use it.”
Aizawa ducked his head, hiding a smile that was threatening to go full and unguarded. Then, without a word, he pushed his own gift across the bar into Shinsou’s hands.
Shinsou knew that meant it was his turn, so he opened the envelope on top of the present first. It wasn’t a Christmas card as he first thought it was, but actually contained a gift card for a late night cafe that Shinsou often stopped at mid-way on his patrols: the same cafe that he and Aizawa used to meet at when they ran the route that was once Aizawa’s and that was now Shinsou’s.
“Shota,” Shinsou breathed happily, “this is great.”
“I want you to be as caffeinated as possible when you’re on patrol,” Aizawa nodded while Midnight sighed loudly.
“I think you mean you want him as focused as possible — ”
“Same thing,” Aizawa and Shinsou said at the same time, which only made Midnight groan in frustration.
Pocketing the gift card, Shinsou turned to focus on opening his second present and began to cackle in delight when he tore the paper to find that Aizawa had gotten him the same package of cat treats, only his were salmon-flavored instead.
“You two are obnoxious, you know that, right?” Midnight asked while Shinsou and Aizawa both laughed at their silly matching gifts, a private happiness on display for Mic and Midnight as they shared in the joy of understanding each other so completely.
Mic shook his head wearily. “If either of you got me cat food for Christmas, I’m having Tsukauchi arrest you both.”
Shinsou had to leave the holiday party early for paperwork of all things. On Christmas Eve.
Aizawa muttered a string of complaints under his breath when Shinsou showed him the message, but neither of them was surprised. Underground work didn’t care about holidays and it certainly didn’t care about silly personal events like Christmas parties. If the agency needed forms signed tonight, they got signed tonight. One delayed report could snag resources for someone else out in the field, and neither of them would ever let that happen.
They’d grumble about the lack of work-life balance later — loudly, ritualistically, like it was a shared sport — but for now, Shinsou just shrugged on his jacket and headed out.
The other advantage of Shinsou leaving the party early was that he not only didn’t have a chance to drink too heavily but he also suddenly had an excuse to pick up dinner for him and Aizawa.
And since he and Aizawa always forgot that sort of thing, Midnight had already placed their KFC order several weeks before so they wouldn’t starve on Christmas Eve, knowing full well that Aizawa would forget to preorder the food just as she knew that Shinsou would be at Aizawa’s apartment after the Christmas Eve party ended. It wasn’t even a guess anymore; it was just fact.
Shinsou used his key to open the door to Aizawa’s apartment. He didn’t bother knocking: he was such a fixture at Aizawa’s apartment that they essentially treated it as both of theirs and he didn’t think he had knocked at the door for years now. The only person Aizawa would bother getting off the couch for was him, and the only person who didn’t need permission to walk in was also him. They’d built the system quietly, wordlessly, and it worked better than anything either of them had ever bothered to plan. Why would he need to knock when he knew it wasn’t necessary?
He knew that Aizawa would be nested on the couch, where he almost always was when Shinsou came by after nine in the evening, just as he knew that Aizawa would be curled up in his sweatpants and one of his oversized sweaters that he seemed to love to live in. He knew even though it was late that Aizawa would have coffee ready for him and he knew that he had a whole drawer of comfortable clothing that Aizawa had been letting him borrow over the last few years. They weren’t technically his clothes — although several items now floated between Aizwaa’s house and his own — and the drawer wasn’t technically his. Even though it was. They just had never discussed it. Just as they had never discussed Shinsou getting a key. One day Aizawa just pressed it into Shinsou’s hand and that was it. They didn’t need to talk about it. It was just understood.
The apartment was dim and warm, lit mostly by the string of old Christmas lights Aizawa pretended he didn’t care about. Sure enough, he was burrowed into the corner of the couch in soft sweatpants and one of those oversized sweaters that swallowed him whole, hair loose and a little wild from sleep or patrol or both.
Aizawa tilted his head to look at Shinsou from the couch when Shinsou stepped in the door.
“You brought dinner,” he said, sounding pleased but not entirely surprised. He knew Midnight would remember to place an order for them.
Shinsou lifted the bag of KFC with a grin as he slipped his shoes off. “It is a holiday, you know.”
Aizawa snorted and turned back to face the television, basking in the pile of blankets he was nestled in. “Glad Nem remembered to order it,” he said, relaxing bonelessly into the blankets. “Coffee’s in the pot and beer’s in the fridge,” he said as if Shinsou didn’t already know that. He was pretty sure it was his beer in the first place.
Shinsou grinned despite himself and he made his way to the kitchen. He loved the ease of being with Aizawa in his apartment.
It felt like home.
It felt right.
“How was the office?” Aizawa’s voice carried from the living room.
“It was completely unnecessary for me to make the trip,” Shinsou called back. “They only wanted me to file my DS-185. On a holiday.”
“Ridiculous,” Aizawa said in agreement, but he knew how it went. Aizawa was now semi-retired from hero work but he and Shinsou still worked at the same agency and he knew all too well how demanding it could be.
Shinsou put the KFC on the kitchen counter and poured himself a cup of coffee instead, preferring coffee to actual food at this point. Plus, he knew it was what Aizawa was drinking as well. It wasn’t a night for beers or whisky or anything else. Just coffee. Just like they were used to.
And finally — finally — after the early patrol in the morning and the holiday party with too many people with too many eyes watching and after going back to the office to do paperwork well into the evening — they were finally alone, just the two of them.
It felt like the world had been a rush, the constant stream of endless tasks going by in a blur until now when everything just stopped in a blessed moment of peace in their little space of safety and comfort away from the world.
Shinsou sank into the couch next to Aizawa, the action familiar since he had done it hundreds of times. He liked that he could come to Aizawa’s apartment and that he had a place there. It was his spot on the couch. Right where he belonged. Right next to Aizawa.
Just the two of them together on the couch in a comfortable and shared happiness that didn’t need to have a name.
“Hey Toshi,” Aizawa said quietly, his voice in the soft and warm tone he used only when and Shinsou were alone together. It was the tone that made Shinsou’s heart beat far too quickly and made him melt at the same time. “Merry Christmas.”
Shinsou almost responded in kind, but he was too embarrassed by himself blushing at Aizawa’s gentle greeting, so he opted to be more difficult. “You don’t even celebrate Christmas,” he pointed out stubbornly.
Aizawa grinned at him lazily. “No, but I never pass up a holiday. Especially one that involves food.”
“All holidays involve food.”
“The presents are a nice bonus, too.”
“Didn’t know you were so into presents,” Shinsou commented lightly, setting his coffee mug on the table next to Aizawa’s. The gentle banter was easy and familiar; as warm and comforting as pulling on an old sweatshirt. Shinsou could lower his guard around Aizawa: he didn’t need to be Shinsou, the Pro Hero Trying to Prove Himself; or Shinsou the Pretend Villain; or Shinsou the Pro Hero Trying to Earn Both a Living and Respect From His Peers. He was just Shinsou.
And the persona fit him just fine.
Aizawa’s grin remained on his face as he surveyed Shinsou, likely noting every weary line of exhaustion and stress on his face but still choosing not to comment on it. “Everyone likes presents,” he said with a careless shrug, as if he were amused at the thought of him actually enjoying being given gifts.
“Oh yeah?”
Aizawa nodded. “I’m fairly certain.”
Shinsou snorted. He liked that he and Aizawa could tease each other and he liked even more that he still could tell what Aizawa was thinking without Aizawa needing to say a word. He liked that he knew he could tease Aizawa because he knew without a doubt that Aizawa didn’t actually care. And knowing someone so thoroughly, so profoundly — it was a rare thing and it was something that Shinsou treasured beyond all measure.
He turned to Aizawa to make another sarcastic comment when he suddenly stopped, his entire body going completely still as he realized how close they were to each other’s proximity.
He hadn’t noticed when he sat down. He never noticed. He always flung himself onto Aizawa’s couch like he belonged there (because he did), sprawling close without a second thought. But tonight, with the quiet pressing in and the faint glow of the Christmas lights illuminating them, the inches separating their shoulders suddenly felt like a gulf he had never bothered to measure.
Aizawa was right there. Close enough that Shinsou could feel the warmth coming off him, could count the faint silver threads at his temples that hadn’t been quite so noticeable last month. Close enough to see the faint creases at the corners of his eyes, the quiet wariness that lingered even here, in the one place Aizawa let his mask of indifference slip.
A moment later Shinsou realised that other than when they were sparring, this was as close as he had ever been to Aizawa. Which was strange. Because they were together all the time. So how was this the closest they had been in ages to each other? Were they usually not this close? Why did he keep a distance between them?
If anything, the closeness settled over him like something he had been missing without realizing it, content to be this close to Aizawa and pleasantly happy to find that he didn’t feel uncomfortable. If anything, he felt better being this close.
And suddenly, Shinsou wondered that too. Why wasn’t he usually so close to Aizawa? Why had he always left that careful gap between them? It wasn’t for any particular reason. Not out of respect, or deference or uncertainty, and not out of caution. Just — habit. A habit that suddenly felt pointless. So what was holding him back?
Here he was, in Aizawa’s apartment as he was most nights, about to spend Christmas with him as he did most years, and he was suddenly unsure? He knew Aizawa best out of everyone, and he alone could predict Aizawa with startling accuracy and anticipate his feelings and reactions without so much as a shadow of a doubt; and suddenly Shinsou was unsure about this?
No, he amended immediately, he wasn’t unsure. He was scared.
Because he knew Aizawa. And he knew Aizawa cared about him. Even loved him. And while Shinsou wasn’t 100 percent positive it was anything more than platonic, he also knew two things: Aizawa would never make the first move. And that Aizawa would forgive him if he was wrong.
Shinsou paused, uncertain, but he didn’t move away.
Up close, Aizawa looked tired in a way that went deeper than late patrols or too much coffee. Tired, but unguarded. Open in a way he rarely let himself be with anyone else. His dark eyes were fixed on Shinsou, patient and waiting.
Heat stirred low in Shinsou’s stomach, sharp and undeniable. He shoved it down, hard. Not now. Not when he was finally noticing how easy it would be to lean in, to close the last bit of space, to press his mouth to Aizawa’s and say everything he had never managed to put into words —
“Toshi?” Aizawa’s voice was barely above a murmur, the nickname falling out soft and familiar, the way it always did when the rest of the world was locked outside the door. There was no demand in it, just quiet curiosity, patient as ever.
Shinsou’s throat tightened.
He knew this apartment better than his own. Knew the exact creak of the floorboard by the kitchen, the way to hit the AC to make it stutter back to life. He had a key he had never asked for, a drawer full of clothes that had migrated here piece by piece, a permanent indent on the left couch cushion.
And he could read Aizawa better than anyone: every micro-expression, every dry deflection. He knew Aizawa cared about him.
And he knew — had always known — that Aizawa loved him. Deeply. Steadily. The kind of love that showed up in fresh coffee at midnight and a spare toothbrush that never got moved back to the cupboard.
But he also knew Aizawa would never cross that line first.
Not because he didn’t want to. Shinsou had caught the looks that lingered too long, the way Aizawa’s hand sometimes hovered like he wanted to brush hair from Shinsou’s forehead and then thought better of it. It was the old teacher-student shadow that still clung to them, even though those days were years behind them. It was Aizawa’s stubborn refusal to let any hint of power imbalance taint whatever this was. It was the quiet, selfless belief that Shinsou deserved every option in the world and that tying himself to a tired underground hero in Musutafu shouldn’t be one forced on him. He wanted Shinsou to make his own choices, his own independent decisions.
Aizawa had built his life here, and his roots went down deep. He wouldn’t uproot it and he wouldn’t ask Shinsou to trim his wings to fit. He’d stay exactly where he was, steady and waiting, letting Shinsou orbit as close or as far as he needed.
And Shinsou had let the years slip by without choosing.
It was fear, maybe? Fear of hearing “we’re better as friends” and losing this effortless closeness. Maybe he was scared of the rejection? Maybe he wasn’t sure if he wanted to settle down?
But the truth was simpler.
If he asked and Aizawa turned him down, it wouldn’t break them. Aizawa cared about him too much for that. They would weather the awkwardness, patch the cracks, and end up right back here — shoulders brushing, sharing terrible takeout on Christmas Eve — like nothing had changed.
Except he’d finally have an answer.
Shinsou let out a slow breath. The space between them still felt too wide, but for the first time, it didn’t feel impossible.
Which meant, what did Shinsou have to lose by asking?
Nothing. Nothing at all.
And what was he even waiting for? Some sort of sign? Some sort of an excuse to start? Why not right now? Why wait any longer?
Shinsou had already waited enough.
And Aizawa was also waiting, patient and kind, for Shinsou to make a decision.
So he did.
And because Shinsou loved being a bit of a pain when he could, he felt his lips twitch in a grin. “I actually have another present for you,” he said, keeping a quiet purr in his voice because he enjoyed the way Aizawa’s pupils dilated at the sound.
Why didn’t he do this sooner?
“Oh?” Aizawa asked and he didn’t move away. His eyes fixed on Shinsou, unwavering as he waited.
Shinsou nodded, sliding himself even closer to Aizawa so that their bodies were almost touching and their noses were only a hair's breadth away from each other.
“You already gave me a present,” Aizawa pointed out because he was just as much of a pain in the ass as Shinsou was. But he didn’t move away, he didn't flinch. He tilted his head almost curiously, still waiting to see what Shinsou would do, now that Shinsou was suddenly so close.
“It’s for your birthday,” Shinsou said, determined to be as much of a brat as possible, even though he had already gotten Aizawa a birthday present.
Aizawa gave him an unamused look. “My birthday was over a month ago.”
“I had to wait for it to come in the mail.”
“Oh?” Aizawa watched him, waiting, his body language open, his facial expression kind and tilting towards happiness. For as much of a brat as Shinsou was, there was a part of Aizawa that liked that about him. And he was happy to play along if Shinsou wanted to be a pain.
Shinsou hummed, still tantalizingly close to Aizawa. And suddenly, he wasn’t so sure he should do it. He wasn’t so sure of himself the way he was just a few moments ago. What if he were wrong? What if he messed up?
But Aizawa had seen him mess up before. He had seen him make mistakes and miscalculate and he never held it against Shinsou. So logically, it should be fine —
“Toshi,” Aizawa breathed again softly, and it was the closest Aizawa had ever come to actually telling him to make a move, even though he only said Shinsou’s name. He didn’t need to say more. He didn’t need to clarify. It was already understood between them.
How long had Aizawa been waiting? How long had he let Shinsou circle around him, careful to never push or pull or demand or even request?
And worse, how long had Shinsou had everything he had ever wanted in his life right here? Apparently without fully realizing it. Or, at least, without understanding what it meant.
Shinsou had Aizawa.
It was a simple fact and a simple truth. And Shinsou felt like a fool for not realizing it earlier. But here they were on Christmas Eve, sitting close together on Aizawa’s couch like they belonged there because they did.
“Do you want your present?” Shinsou asked quietly.
Aizawa’s face was so close to Shinsou’s and yet he remained still, stopping himself from moving forward, from crossing the line, even if Shinsou was laying it out for him to do so. “Of course I do,” he said and Shinsou felt a faint thrill at how hoarse Aizawa’s voice was, as if he were struggling to speak while Shinsou was so close to him.
Shinsou was almost tempted to tell Aizawa Merry Christmas, but being so close to Aizawa was making his heart jump almost painfully in his chest and he suddenly couldn’t wait a moment more.
Without another word, Shinsou reached up and took Aizawa’s face in his hands and kissed him.
Aizawa stilled for a moment, holding himself completely steady while Shinsou kissed him gently, as if he were testing that this was real and that Shinsou was actually kissing him.
And a half-moment later he moved, his mouth parting open and his hands reaching up to cradle Shinsou’s head, to run his fingers through his hair — he touched everything he could, kissing deeply and desperately — and Shinsou could only groan and melt into Aizawa’s touch.
They parted for a moment, both of them breathless and a little surprised that Shinsou had finally suddenly decided to cross that line to open the door. But years of pent up need and repressed want had suddenly been unleashed and neither of them found themselves able to stop.
They kissed again, practically colliding with each other as Aizawa pulled Shinsou into his lap while Shinsou ground himself against Aizawa, feeling the heat between them surging as both of them groaned in the shared pleasure of intimate, albeit clothed, contact.
“Shota,” Shinsou whined desperately between gasping breaths of air as he kissed Aizawa with every bit of pining desire he had running through his body.
“Toshi,” Aizawa echoed before pulling away.
They panted, both of them staring at each other in the semi-darkness of the room, trying to catch their breaths and wrap their heads around what had just happened.
Swallowing, Shinsou slid off Aizawa’s lap and onto the couch next to him, still touching, unwilling to lose contact with Aizawa even if he weren't actively grinding against him.
“That was one hell of a present,” Aizawa said softly, his voice so quiet that Shinsou couldn’t catch the tone.
He opened his eyes, for a moment worried that maybe he was wrong, but was greeted to the sight of Aizawa watching him with his eyes wide and dark and smoldering with something that looked like want.
“Yeah?” Shinsou whispered, wanting to hear Aizawa say it himself.
Aizawa nodded, leaning forward again so he was back in Shinsou’s space. Shinsou nearly whined, as if he could feel the heat of Aizawa’s skin radiating off him and wanting nothing more than to have Aizawa hold him close to him for the rest of his life.
“So,” Aizawa said hoarsely, “what’s the return policy on that?”
“I — ” Shinsou actually blinked, for a moment so throw by the question he actually almost panicked. But then he remembered that Aizawa hadn’t pulled away and the heat in Aizawa’s gaze continued to smolder as he watched Shinsou with all the intensity he had.
And Shinsou realized a moment later that Aizawa was being just as much of a pain in the ass as Shinsou was and what Aizawa was doing suddenly clicked in Shinsou’s head. “It’s a fairly generous return policy,” he said finally after a small delay in realizing what Aizawa was actually getting at.
Aizawa hummed. “Then perhaps I should make a return,” he murmured, leaning forward. He gently — almost terrifyingly tenderly — pressed his lips against Shinsou’s and left a careful kiss there.
“Shota,” Shinsou whispered, not sure if he was begging or commanding or what he was trying to signal, but his body moved before he could really think about it and suddenly he was in Aizawa’s lap and Aizawa’s hands were on his cheeks holding his face as they kissed again, this time hungrily, this time full of need and want and desire and of all the thousand emotions they had held at bay for the last few years without acknowledging.
When Aizawa pulled back his eyes were wide and dark, simmering with want and a deep contentment that Shinsou had rarely seen on his features before.
“Sorry,” Shinsou said, a little breathlessly. He could feel the heat that pooled in his groin causing him to push against Aizawa and when he shifted in Aizawa’s lap he could feel Aizawa’s responding body as well because they both wanted this.
“What for?” Aizawa asked a moment later after he had found his voice again.
Shinsou grinned, pleased that Aizawa was just as breathless as he was. “I forgot to clarify,” he murmured, reaching up to gently run his fingers through Aizawa’s hair. It was as if the moment he had kissed Aizawa that the dam had burst and now he wanted to touch him in every conceivable way, each platonic touch as electrifying as if they were in bed together. Shinsou wanted it all. He didn’t just want a fuck. He wanted Aizawa and everything that came with it. “It's not actually a return policy,” he said softly to Aizawa, smiling wickedly. “Exchanges only.”
“Exchanges,” Aizawa echoed, the heat in his voice making something in Shinsou turn molten and drip through him in a way that left him both weightless and heavy.
“Yeah,” Shinsou whispered.
Aizawa hummed again, then gently kissed him again. This time it was tender and soft, filled with longing but not as demanding or desperate or needy as the last one was. This one was slower. This one was Aizawa taking his time because he now knew that he had all the time in the world and no longer had to give every ounce of himself into the kiss to Shinsou.
When Shinsou resurfaced again his head was buzzing pleasantly. He felt high and drunk and blissed out all at once, but all he had was a kiss from Aizawa on his couch while he was in his work clothes and Aizawa was in his sweatpants and it was somehow everything he had ever wanted and dreamed of and it was now happening. It was now real.
“Toshi? Toshi?” Aizawa murmured his name and Shinsou was too lost in a spiral of joy and contentment to answer. “Kitten, look at me.”
Shinsou blinked at the name and looked up at Aizawa almost sleepily. “I was trying to think of another return policy joke,” he said honestly.
Aizawa snorted. “I was wondering how long you could keep that up.”
“I was running on fumes, actually.”
Aizawa laughed and the sound was clear as bells and it made another jolt of happiness in Shinsou’s chest. “Thank god for that.”
Shinsou didn’t even hesitate to nuzzle into Aizawa’s chest, breathing in his scent and basking in his warmth, sighing in contentment. Why had he waited so long for this? Especially when it was so easy. Especially when everything he wanted was right in front of him? What took him so long to cross that line and give himself all the things he dreamed of?
Aizawa let out a hum of contentment as Shinsou settled against his chest, the two of them intertwined and lazily sprawled out on the couch together: perfect puzzle pieces fitting into each other. The way it was supposed to be.
“Toshi?”
“Hmm?”
“That might actually be the best present I’ve ever gotten.”
Shinsou chuckled, turning to face Aizawa and placing a chaste kiss on the sharp line of his jaw as he looked up at the man he had been pining for for years. “That’s kinda a low bar, you know?”
Aizawa laughed softly and bent his head down to kiss Shinsou on the side of his mouth.
They exchanged kisses again — not quite chaste, not quite heated — but they were both alright with that. The surge of need building in them both had calmed and Shinsou was content to just be with Aizawa. A few years before he had imagined a debauched sex-filled marathon of endless fucking in every room of the house after making his move on Aizawa. But now, he was tired, he was content, and he simply wanted to coexist with Aizawa in the easy way they always had, this time simply armed with the knowledge that Aizawa felt the same way. It also helped that Shinsou suddenly had the world of prolonged physical content with Aizawa opened to him.
Years of delayed gratification would certainly catch up to them soon enough, but for now, it was enough to be on the couch together, cuddling together as if they had been doing this for years.
“I think I have an idea for your next present,” Aizawa murmured softly, still safely entangled with Shinsou, content and peaceful.
“We’re done with the Christmas gift giving, Shota,” Shinsou murmured back with a half-groan that he didn’t really mean.
“It’s not for Christmas,” Aizawa said stubbornly. “It’s for your birthday.”
Shinsou twisted around to look at Aizawa, giving him his blandest look. “You know my birthday’s in July, right?” he said flatly, knowing full-well that Aizawa knew that since he was the one who insisted Shinsou celebrate it in the first palace.
“I meant for your half-birthday,” Aizawa clarified. “It’s in a few days.”
Shinsou rolled his eyes, partially wondering how long Aizawa could keep this up for but also curious at what Aizawa was thinking. “No one celebrates half-birthdays,” he pointed out stubbornly.
Aizawa kissed Shinsou again and Shinsou almost wondered why he was being so difficult when agreeing with Aizawa would likely lead to more of this.
“I think you should,” he said, giving Shinsou an absolutely devilish look.
Shinsou swallowed down his annoyed sigh, too happy to have Aizawa be both playful and willingly planted in his embrace. “I’m sure I can be persuaded to.”
Aizawa laughed and kissed him again, as if suddenly delighted that he had full permission to do so whenever he wanted to.
Shinsou knew they had a million things to discuss about what this meant and what the expectations of it would be, but he also was more than happy to just have this moment and bask in it. They could worry about all the details tomorrow. It didn’t matter right this moment.
“You know,” Shinsou murmured softly, content exactly where they were now, “you don’t need to have a holiday as an excuse.”
Aizawa hummed. “So do you not want your half-birthday present?”
“Oh no, I definitely want it,” Shinsou laughed, nestling into Aizawa's chest like a cat. “I can’t wait to see what you’ve thought of.”
Aizawa’s fingers combed through his hair in a new gesture that already felt familiar and safe, like he had done it a thousand times before because it seemed like every action they did just felt right even if it was the first time they had done it. “I have a feeling you’ll like it.”
Shinsou had a feeling that he absolutely would.